They say the world was once dark and cold,
Until a woman detested by the village struck two stones together and created a spark.
Flames shot forth from her sable fingertips and warmed the world.
The people, temporarily forgetting their scorn for her, cried out to worship her.
They built monuments and showered her with empty praises.
They said the fire maker would save the world from the cold.
The fire maker would save their souls from the dark shadows spreading across the four corners.
Each empty praise was an added burden to the fire maker,
Each plea and expectation to save them slowly drained her soul,
Because though the villagers knew they could not survive without her flames,
They continued to silently resent her as they showered her with vain epithets.
It's not that she was the only one capable of creating fire.
She was the only one willing to take the risk.
And yet the fire maker continued her journey through the village,
Setting fires in the hearths of frigid homes
And bringing warmth and life to those in need.
Though the burden was heavy, she didn't warm the village for the sake of the villagers.
She created fire because she, too, needed it to survive.
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As the Light Fades
PoesiJust scattered fragments of poetry and random musings. The topics aren't pretty, so read at your own discretion.
